Let Me Be the Place That You Hide
by darkbluesharpie
Summary: Castiel has been in the foster care program all of his life. He doesn't trust or care for anyone because life has taught him it's easier not to. That is, until he meets his new foster brother and roommate, the friendly and easy-going Dean Winchester. When Dean gets abused by their foster father, the two of them run away together, and Castiel tries to undo the damage of his attack.
1. Prologue

**Title**: Let Me Be the Place That You Hide  
**Pairing**: Dean/Castiel  
**Rating**: NC-17  
**Warnings**: foster care, orphans, hurt/comfort, rape/non-con (not Dean/Castiel), first time, bottom!Dean, protective!Castiel, self-worth issues, angst, fluff  
**Summary**: Castiel has been in the foster care program all of his life. He doesn't trust or care for anyone other than himself because life has taught him it's easier not to. That is, until he meets his new foster brother and roommate, the friendly and easy-going Dean Winchester. What he first thinks if just infatuation quickly turns out to be affection and eventually love. When Dean gets abused by their foster father, the two of them run away together, and Castiel tries to undo the damage of his attack.  
**Disclaimer**: I do not own anything in this story, nor do I make any profits from it. I apologize for any grammatical issues and misspellings, this is unbeta'd.  
**Author's Notes**: There is going to be some heavy stuff in this story. I will give warnings for any sexual content or possible triggers at the beginning of each chapter, so please read them carefully if they are there. Dean's attack doesn't happen for a few chapters, but I will let you know beforehand. I didn't mark this story as rape/non-con because it is not Dean/Castiel, it doesn't happen from Dean's perspective, and it's not graphic or written as a kink.  
The references I am getting for the foster care system are from Google, and my friend's mom who was in the system for a few years. If I have something wrong, I deeply apologize. This is just for fan fiction purposes, and I hope I don't offend anyone.  
Title taken from the beautiful song "Run Away With Me" from the musical _The Unauthorized Autobiography of Samantha Brown_.

* * *

Prologue

The house wasn't much to look at. On the smaller side for a four bedroom, two-story house, it didn't do much aesthetically. The whitish-blue paint was faded and peeling, and the lawn was in need of some landscaping, with the brown grass and overgrown weeds. A lot of areas suffered from neglect, and the garage looked like it was in need of some serious repair. It sat behind a largish front yard with a few full-grown trees, with branches littering the area from the harsh April winds.

And it was Castiel's new home.

The Kennedy's had seemed nice enough when he was dropped off at their house, though he knew better than to trust first impressions. Whether it was a trait he developed from his life in the system, or because he was naturally gifted with observation and instinct, he could always pick up on people's true character behind the well-polished first impressions.

Like now; barely sizing them up, he was able to notice his new foster mother's smile was clearly forced and insincere. Her husband was not even trying to fake pleasantries, which was a relief in it's own way- certainly made things easier- and was turning back towards the house before the social worker had pulled out of the driveway.

He looked back up at the house, unimpressive and insipid, and he wondered how long this one would last.

It was second nature by now, this whole process of "meeting his new family." There was a time when it used to affect him- after all, it's not the easiest thing to adapt to, being in the foster care system. Castiel had lost count of all the times he was brought into a new home, adjusted to the family's lifestyle, and then had it all uprooted as the whole process started over. Each family had a different reason; "There's not enough room," "We're expecting another child," "Money is just too tight for us," but they all meant the same thing: "We don't want you here."

No, it wasn't easy. But when your life getting uprooted becomes the norm, when everything you've known got taken away so often that it's routine, it's hard not to get used to it. You develop certain habits, some because it's all you know how to do, but most for your own preservation and sanity.

Like going to a new family. For all of the different families Castiel had been a part of over the years, each for different lengths of time, he had never felt like he belonged in any of them. It was no surprise that he had grown apathetic when it came to meeting new people. It wasn't like he was likely to stay there long enough for them to even remember his name, let alone get to know him. No, it was easier to keep himself distant. Cut off. Indifferent to the group of people that were introduced as his "new family." Castiel doubted any of them even know what that was supposed to mean.

The dictionary defines a family as a group consisting of parents and children living together in a household. Well, Castiel thought bitterly, they were definitely that, if not much else.

The act of parenthood lasted as long as it took to get to the door, as Castiel had expected.

"Alright, Caz-deel," the foster father- Curtis was his name- began. "Listen up, cause we're only gonna have this talk once"

He laid into him the house rules; no running, to touching anything, stay out of the kitchen, don't make a mess, no TV without permission, no noise past 8pm, and on and on. Castiel heard it all, and loosely translated it to, "Let us pretend you don't exist."

It wasn't a big deal, he'd had this talk before.

His foster parents of the past were more often than not lazy slobs of some form who were taking advantage of the system. Only twice in all of Castiel's life had he been placed in a family that genuinely wanted to care for children. They were also the only two times in his life he had let himself have hope. Hope that maybe- just _maybe_- somebody wanted him, wanted to take care of him. Wanted him to belong. It never lasted, though, and the other parents he was placed with were sure to keep his hopes from making a reappearance.

Worse than the parents, if that was possible, were the other children- his "brothers and sisters." At the top of the list of foster family members to avoid when possible, were the biological children of the house parents. They were, more often than not, spoiled brats who loved getting away with anything they could by successfully placing blame on the troubled and disturbed orphans. If there were ever any foster parents that didn't immediately believe their own flesh and blood over their temporary cash cow, Castiel had never met them. Luckily, the Kennedy's didn't appear to have any of their own children.

The other foster kids all came from different backgrounds, and everyone had a story. A very common one that Castiel had heard was the one where the parents were neglectful, and cared more about their next fix than they did about raising their child. Other classics included some form of physical abuse. Of all the kids Castiel had met moving from house to house, those were the ones he felt the worst for; they always looked so defenseless, so vulnerable, like they thought just their presence in a room, or making some form of eye contact was enough to get them into trouble.

Castiel was one of the lucky ones, in that respect- he had had his fair share of verbal and emotional abuse, sure, but so far, he had managed to avoid being seriously physically harmed. A few parents had pushed him around a handful of times, and many kids- biological and foster alike- had landed some good punches over the years, but he had never broken a bone, been to the emergency room, never even gotten a noticeable scar.

But they were all here for the same reason, the foster kids; some had other family members- aunts and uncles, cousins, even older siblings- that didn't take them in, and the rest didn't have anyone else at all. In the end, no one wanted them either. They were all thrown together, and labeled "damaged." And they were, in one way or another.

One would think that would make them closer, all of them being through the some of the same things, but most of them were like Castiel- they had closed themselves off to avoid being hurt further. Very rarely did any of them stand up for each other, or stick their neck out for someone who was little mare than a stranger to them. They were far more likely to cover up their hurt by hurting each other, or protect themselves by letting someone else take the blame.

The Kennedy's had two other foster children in their care besides himself- Sara and RJ, both of them older. Apparently, when one of them "moved out," (or rather, turned eighteen and was no longer in the system, therefor kicked out for being of no monetary use,) they brought a replacement in, always fourteen or older, so they can mostly take care of themselves.

After Curtis's talk, in which Castiel only listened, the foster dad stalked off to the living room to plop on the couch and watch TV. His foster mother led him down the hall, tossing loose pieces of Kennedy Trivia at him ("On Wednesdays, we have spaghetti for dinner."). He was sure to observe every piece of the house he passed by, taking inventory of all the information it offered; nothing on the floor- they were at least clean; two empty beer cans by the recliner- Curtis was a drinker- a serious one, as it was only 2pm; there were no pet or infant toys laying around.

When they reached the top of the stairs, he saw three doors; there was one to the far left, on straight ahead, and one on the right. The door in the middle was the only one open- a look inside revealed a decent sized bathroom, and the one to the left, he was told, was Sara's room.

Castiel did not miss the deadbolt locks on the outside of the bedroom doors.

"And this is where you'll stay," Shirley Kennedy said, opening the door that was closer to the bathroom and on the far right. Once he stepped inside, the door was closed and he heard her footsteps as she walked off.

It did not come as a surprise that he was not getting his own room. Having never had one before, it wasn't exactly a loss. The other occupant, and therefor his roommate, was a surly 17-year-old named RJ who quickly took to using Castiel as his personal punching bag. Turned out RJ was very territorial and quick to tell him where he could and couldn't put his things. Castiel was unsympathetic when he was "sent on his way" on his 18th birthday a few months later.

Only when he was in the middle of relocating did he vaguely think he might be a little lucky to have always been in the system, and not come from a real family of his own. He imagined it was a lot easier to have never had something than it was to have it, and lose it, being powerless as it was taken away.

It also helped that he didn't have anything from home to take with him when he moved; he'd seen what cruelties await those who had pictures or dolls or jewelery from their life before foster care, when it got taken and dangled out of reach, or if it was of any monetary value, got stolen and sold.

With just a small torn backpack with a few hand-me-down clothes and cheap toiletries, Castiel needed not fear anyone wanting to take his belongings, and could hardly care if they did.

Castiel would be turning seventeen that summer. Used to being amongst the older foster children in the house, at the Kennedy's, he found himself himself the youngest, though the other kids would be in for quite the surprise if they thought having a couple of years on him made him weaker. At every opportunity he had over the past few years, Castiel stayed outdoors, doing after school sports, or just going to the track to run. It was better than being stuck with his artificial family, and it had earned him some muscle over the years. It was hard to hit something that could outrun you.

It had taken a matter of hours for Castiel to figure out what type of foster parents he had. Just by the behavior of the other kids alone, he knew he would have to watch his step around them. The father, referred to as "sir" when spoken to directly, and "Old Bastard" when no one was listening, took the beat-the-problem-out-of-them approach to parenting. Coupled with his excessive drinking and fast temper, he was definitely one to avoid when possible.

The mother was your typical look-the-other-way-and-hope-for-the-best type. She was never around when her husband picked up the bottle, always getting home after 2am when he would be passed out. She was cold and unsympathetic towards them, which Castiel learned was because she couldn't have any children of her own.

They carried on easily enough for almost half the year, from April to September. His birthday came and went unnoticed, but that was fine by him, and school was easy, which was fortunate as he had come in so late in the year. Castiel was even able to find a weekend job.

Then that September, RJ was kicked out. For the first time in his life, Castiel had his own room, and though it would not last long, he did his best to enjoy it and make it his before the next kid showed up.

The room was small and bare, no posters or pictures on the walls; there were no trophies on the dresser, no birthday cards on display. Yet, despite the lack of personal items, the room had a very lived-in look to it.

A wooden bunk-bed was pressed against the wall opposite the entrance. Two old and mismatched dressers stood side-by-side to the left of the room, one for each of kid, though they were both Castiel's for the time being. Taking a look around the room, he started to think about all of the things that he wasn't allowed to do before.

Like the worn desk in the corner- it had held all of RJ's useless school crap. Even when he wasn't using it, Castiel was not allowed to move any of his stuff, and to avoid any problems, Castiel had taken to doing his schoolwork on his bunk bed, or on the floor. The desk was bare now, and Castiel plopped his backpack on top of it, no longer containing ripped clothes, but laden with his school books and supplies.

The sight of his bag on RJ's desk triggered something in Castiel. Because no- it wasn't RJ's anymore.

Castiel walked to the window, the only one in the room. RJ had never allowed it to be open, always keeping the curtain drawn heavily over it, blocking out any light. But now RJ was gone, and Castiel pulled the curtains all the way back, and opened the window as far as it would go. It was such a simple thing, opening a window, but it made Castiel smile. It was the whole concept of ownership- not of stuff, but of being the one to say "this window stays open,"- that was so foreign to him.

It slowly started to sink in. He had a say. This room- for however short a time- was _his_.

Whoever his next roommate was going to be better not try to challenge him on the stance of window openings.


	2. Chapter 1

It had been a conflicting week. Despite promising himself he wouldn't let having his own room go to his head, that he would remember it was only temporary and would be sharing it soon enough, Castiel couldn't help but grow into the room a bit.

He had immediately claimed the top bunk the night after RJ was gone and it was vacated. A torn and creased Star Wars poster had been placed over his desk, earned by walking home late from school, and finding it poking out of a box beside a dumpster. His school books and extra supplies decorated the larger dresser that he had taken- though he really didn't need it.

His room was clean. His room had a nice breeze coming in from the open window. His room was exactly how he wanted it. His room was _his room_. He was happy in it, and saddened when he knew it wouldn't last.

It had been an anticipating week. Some time before RJ's 18th birthday, Castiel wasn't sure how long, the Kennedy's had filed the paperwork for his replacement. Though there was another room in the house, it belonged to Sara, the other foster kid. Castiel had never been in there, but judging from the size of the house, he doubted it was any larger. For a brief moment, Castiel had almost let himself hope that the next kid brought in would be a girl and would be bunking with Sara, but he didn't have long to enjoy his fantasy before Shirley, his foster mother, had come into his room (without knocking, much to his disdain) to tell him to clear a space.

It had been a pessimistic week. Day after day, Castiel's mind would wonder about this impending invasion on the one good thing he had going in this place. Would he be like RJ, territorial and quick to violence? Would he have some sort of dark nature about him, left over from his abusive family? Would he have an annoying habit, like picking at his toenails? What if he was a slob? What if he was stronger than Castiel? What if he wanted the window closed?

No. There was no way Castiel was going to let this stranger ruin this for him. This was still his room, and he was determined to keep it.

It had been an exhausting week. Castiel could barely enjoy his room for all that he was worried about the arrival of his roommate. He stared at his self-made calender pinned on the closet door as he crossed off the day for September 17th; the room-ruiner would be there the next day. He cast a sad look around his small sanctuary, knowing that it was about to come to an end tomorrow.

Sure enough, early Sunday morning, his foster mom walked right in uninvited and told him to get ready, his "new brother" was on his way. Castiel's heart dropped. For the first time in his life, words like "unfair," and "mine," gathered in his head, because it was the first time he had had something to lose. Castiel didn't want to share the only this that had ever belonged to him.

As he watched a black car pull into the driveway, Castiel finally understood why RJ had hated him so much. He put his back to the window and stared around his room- while it was still his room- taking in every piece of it, before half of it was taken from him.

His ears picked up the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs a short time later, the voice of his foster mother finishing up the tour while explaining the house rules (a much longer list of which, Castiel knew, would come later, along with his many chores), until the sounds stopped right outside his door that he wished would never open.

"And this is where you'll be staying," Shirley said, opening the door and presenting Castiel's room to the threat to his privacy and peace of mind. "Caz-di-yall, come meet your new brother." With that, she walked off to do god knows what, leaving the boy standing at the threshold. Without any prompting or further invitation, he walked in.

Castiel immediately sized him up from where he leaned next to the window; the boy was younger, that he could tell right away, though not by much. They were about the same height, though he wasn't as built as Castiel was- something he was happy for. An old, worn leather jacket covered his slight frame, and his shoes looked about as beat up as Castiel's own. It was impossible not to notice how attractive he was, but Castiel never paid those kinds of things any mind; being pretty said nothing about his character.

In his left hand was a dull green duffel bag that had seen better days. He watched the boy intently, waiting to see where he would try to set it down so that he could tell this intruder where he was and wasn't allowed to have his things.

While Castiel was looking at him, he was looking at the room, taking in the small space that they would be sharing. He braced himself for the impending opinion; he liked his room exactly the way it was, and any unflattering comments would be unwelcome.

"Hey, sweet poster," the boy said, smiling at the Star Wars picture above his desk. "Is it yours?"

"Yes," Castiel replied immediately, but stopped himself from adding, '_as is everything else_.'

"Cool," he said, stepping closer. He smiled at Castiel before offering his hand. "I'm Dean, nice to meet you."

Castiel stared at his hand in mild confusion for a moment before Dean wriggled his fingers. When Castiel met his eyes, Dean was still smiling at him, and Castiel narrowed his eyes in suspicion before slowly uncrossing his arms and taking Dean's raised hand briefly.

"Castiel," he said shortly but clearly; if they were going to be living together, he would rather he know how to pronounce his name correctly and without any added letters.

Either not noticing Castiel's less-than-warm welcome, or not caring, Dean stepped more into the room.

"So, uh," he gestured to the beds. "Which one is yours?"

_Both_.

"The top one," Castiel confirmed curtly.

"Great," Dean said, setting his duffel bag on the lower bunk. "I like being on bottom more, it's easier to get in and out."

Dean left his bag on the bed, and leaned back on the post holding Castiel's bunk up. When his host continued to say nothing, Dean pointed at the open window.

"It's a little cold outside for that, isn't it?"

"The window stays open," Castiel said immediately, perhaps a little more harshly than he had intended and Dean simply put his hands up, palms out in a surrendering gesture.

"Hey, that's fine. So uh," Dean placed his hands back in the pockets of his jacket, in what was clearly a familiar posture. "How long have you been here?"

"About five months," Castiel informed him.

"What can you tell me about this place?"

This was a very familiar conversation amongst foster kids. Castiel had asked these questions himself when he was younger, back when he still held regard for other people's advice. But he was not like other foster kids, he would tell him the truths he needed to know. He could help the kid survive the Kennedys.

So Castiel told him what he knew; Old Bastard was an angry person, and an angrier drunk; Trophy Wife was distant and artificial towards the paycheck-kids. He told Dean about Sara, how he wasn't likely to see her often- she was almost never at the house, and when she was, she mostly locked herself in her room. Just an expression, of course, as the only locks on the doors were on the outside, designed to trap them in, not keep others out.

Dean kept his comments short, acknowledging his similar opinion on what he picked up on Shirley, and chiming in that he noticed the locks. His remarks were short, and didn't cut Castiel off. It was appreciated.

Castiel had always been a good judge of character, and to this day, he had never been wrong in his assumptions. Though even if he weren't, it was easy to tell Dean was not a territorial person, and was even unexpectedly open.

They eventually sat down, Dean on his new bed, Castiel moving the desk chair closer to him, as their conversation moved from topic to topic. Castiel was surprised how easy it was having Dean in his- _their_- room; he couldn't remember the last time he talked to someone like this, where they weren't expecting something from him, and what he had to say mattered.

The topic eventually turned to the local high school where Dean would be starting that Monday. The advice on the subject was easy enough, and Castiel informed him as best he could; Dean could take the bus if he wanted, but Castiel preferred to get up early and walk there. It wasn't a bad school necessarily, no more than the average high school, he guessed. The food was edible, and the clubs were good time-killers.

"What grade are you in?" Castiel asked.

"I'm a Sophomore," Dean said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "I was actually home-schooled last year and for middle school, too. Hope I'm not too far behind."

He said it with a laugh, but Castiel caught the nervousness in his voice. So Monday would be his first day of high school; he could understand why that would unsettle him, and Castiel found himself wanting to help put him at ease.

"It's not so bad," he said comfortingly. "I'm a senior, and I've been to a few high schools- this one is pretty good." A light feeling rose in his chest at the '_Really_?' look Dean gave him, and he continued. "The classes aren't too hard if you pay attention, and most of the other students are too wrapped up in themselves to give anyone else any notice."

"They might notice the new kid," Dean said in a would-be joking voice, but Castiel could tell this was something he anticipated- foster kids weren't exactly under the radar when it came to easy bullying targets.

"It's only been a month, so we're still pretty close to the start of the school year- everyone is pretty new to each other," Castiel said, and yeah, the small uncertain smile Dean gave him definitely felt good. Not that that meant anything.

But as far as room-ruiners went, Dean didn't seem all that bad.

* * *

When Castiel's watch alarm beeped at 6am the next day, it took him a minute to figure out why this morning felt off. Pressing the button to silence his watch, he laid back and thought about why that was until his ears picked up on the steady breathing coming from the bed under him.

Oh. Right.

His new roommate rolled in his bunk when Castiel stepped down his ladder, and without meaning to do so, he stopped and looked at Dean. The source of the soft breathing noises was sprawled out on his back, the blanket tangled around his legs, chest rising and falling with his even breathing. Moonlight from the open window cast him in a silvery glow, and Castiel couldn't help but stare at him; he looked so relaxed, and peaceful. Luckily, Dean's leg kicked out in his sleep, and Castiel came back to himself, because yeah, staring at someone you just met while they were asleep was a little creepy.

As quietly as he could, he grabbed his school clothes and toiletries before heading to the bathroom; a shower would help him get back on schedule.

Wisps of stream unfurled out of the bathroom when Castiel stepped out, fully dress in casual jeans and plain t-shirt. To his surprise, Dean was up as well, changing into his own clothes for his first day at Whitman High.

"Morning," Dean offered gruffly, his voice still sleep-rich and raspy.

Castiel gave him a once-over, taking in his stained and wrinkled shirt and torn jeans, and furrowed his brow at them. Walking to the closet, he searched around through his things (Dean didn't have anything to hang up, he noticed), and tossed some nicer- newer- clothes at him. Because if Dean was going to walk with him, he wasn't going to look homeless. Not because Castiel wanted to help him on his first day, or anything.

"I'm leaving in ten minutes if you're coming with me," Castiel said in way of morning greetings.

As Dean redressed after a brief 'thanks,' Castiel made his bed and checked the contents of his backpack, making sure he had all of his books and assignments.

"You always get up this early?" Dean asked around a yawn.

"You're more than welcome to sleep in and catch the bus in an hour," Castiel replied. "Though I do not recommend it."

After a confused look from his barely-awake bedroom companion, Castiel explained.

"It's best not to be here when Old Bastard wakes up," Castiel said with a whisper; though he knew everyone was asleep, he couldn't risk his voice carrying down the stairs. "His temper is even shorter than usual in the morning, and trust me, you don't want to be here when it hits."

Castiel recalled with a wince the first (and last) time he had caught the bus during his first week at the Kennedy's, when a breaking sound came from the kitchen due to Old Bastard dropping his coffee mug. He had spotted Castiel coming down the hall, and as the closest/only blamable person around, had shouted at him for a lengthy amount of time and ordered him to clean everything up before heading out, causing him to miss the bus and be late his first day. So yeah, it was best not to be here.

Quietly, jackets donned and bags on their backs, they made their way to the living room, slipping out the front door just as the alarm went off in the master bedroom.

The school was less than two miles away, and Castiel could usually make the trip in a little more than thirty minutes, fifteen if he ran. He couldn't however, see himself making either of those times with Dean tagging along next to him.

It was like he was falling asleep on his feet. Three times Castiel had to grab him by the shoulder to keep him from walking into a mailbox or telephone pole, or prevent him from toppling over. He had to take Dean by the elbow when, eyes closed and mouth slack, he abruptly veered off in another direction, and Castiel smiled despite himself.

Sure, it was mildly annoying having to focus on his roommate's every step so that he didn't twist his ankle tripping on something, and they were lucky to get to school before breakfast was over at the rate they were going, but to watch Dean's eyes jerk open, and slur out a nonsense apology before doing it again was endearing to him.

Once, Dean stumbled into his path, and leaned his head on his shoulder mid-step, causing Castiel to stop walking so neither of them fell over the other. He wasn't sure how long they had paused- it both felt really long and short at the same time- but he felt no urgency to hurry before gently waking Dean up again and continuing their walk.

They arrived at the school almost an hour after leaving the house, and though it had taken them twice as long to get there, Castiel was more amused than irritated. Before leaving, Dean had asked about breakfast, and Castiel had told him about the breakfast in the cafeteria. It wasn't as good as homemade would be, but they weren't allowed to use the kitchen without permission, and Castiel hated having to ask for such trivial things; he far preferred getting things himself. Before Dean could complain about not having any money (as if he had expected otherwise), Castiel had offered to pay.

After they had selected their breakfasts of choice- Castiel with an egg sandwich on an English muffin, Dean with a cherry pastry- they found an empty table. Castiel hadn't missed the way Dean eyed his wallet when he payed for their meals, and wasn't surprised when the topic of conversation turned to money.

"So, uh," Dean said, swallowing a mouthful of pastry. Castiel did not notice the strawberry residue on the corner of his mouth, nor imagine what it might taste like. "Do you get allowance here?"

Castiel bit out a humorless laugh- as if his house parents were so generous. When it came to money, they mostly complained how much the foster kids cost them to keep.

"No," Castiel answered. "I have a small weekend job at Reynold's Record."

After his first week living at the Kennedy House, Castiel had been looking for absolutely any reason to delay his return when the school day ended. He signed up for track, participated in clubs, tutored other students in his best classes, even volunteered to help clean school grounds until he had an excuse to stay after school everyday of the week.

Despite all of this, he still hadn't managed to make many friends, as he wasn't the best people-person, and so he never got invited to go anywhere on the weekend.

It had been a small blessing when he found the flyer offering jobs to anyone who could sort things alphabetically and would be willing to make minimum wage. Most of it was busy-work- putting records away or cleaning, lifting heavy boxes or filing papers; it was easy to do and there was hardly ever anyone else around to socialize with- in other words, it was perfect.

And having some money to call his own was always a good thing in his book. For the first time in his life, Castiel had been able to go shopping for new clothes. Of his own choosing. At a department store, no less.

Given that his house parents hardly cared enough to learn how to say his name, he doubted they even noticed he was gone all the time, or that his wardrobe had changed. Still, having a valid reason to not be there gave him a small comfort, should they start asking questions.

And having money that they didn't know about was pretty awesome, too. Given that he would be out on the streets left to fend for himself in little less than a year, it was time to start saving up. He smirked at his own foresight.

"Let me know if they're hiring," Dean said, snapping him out of his small daydream. He yawned wide, making no attempt to hide it, and Castiel tried not to stare.

"So what classes are you taking?" Castiel inquired, mostly to recover and keep the conversation going, but then finding himself actually curious.

"No idea," Dean shrugged. "I'm supposed to go to the councilor when the bell rings."

"Do you know what electives you want to take?"

Dean scratched idly at the back of his head. "Nope. What are you taking?"

"I take a couple of languages, weight training," Castiel listed. "And I signed up for photography, cause it looked easy, but I'm thinking of switching out."

"Why? Photography sounds fun."

"Sure, if you want to be a photographer."

"Well, what do you want to be?"

The question caught Castiel off guard. Not because he didn't have an answer, but because no one had ever asked him that before. No one had ever cared to.

"Um," he said, looking down at his last bite of egg sandwich. "I mean, I've always wondered what it'd be like to be a pilot," he shrugged. "You know, the travel, seeing the world, meeting new people from all over..." He glanced up at Dean, and saw him watching him, actually paying attention to Castiel's interests, to his dreams, like they were valid and important. He backpedaled immediately. "But that's unrealistic, it's not exactly like pilot school is in my reach. No, I just want to take what I need to graduate, and be done."

"I'm sure you would be a good pilot. You know, if you wanted to be." Dean shrugged, saying it so easily before shoving the rest of his pastry into his mouth, like what he said wasn't a big deal, like it didn't have an enormous effect on Castiel. "If you're not scared of heights- you know, like a freak- then you should go for it."

He was so taken by Dean's statement, he almost missed it when the bell rang for start of classes. When they got up, Castiel showed Dean to the main office where he would meet with the councilor and sign up for his courses, before taking the stairwell that would lead him towards his first class, AP English.

School classes had always been rather easy for Castiel. He took every AP course he could, not because he wanted to challenge himself, but because he liked the title of it; it made him feel intelligent, being ahead of the curve. Math was just numbers and formulas, and he didn't understand why people didn't understand it. He also took advanced French and Spanish, and was able to speak them both fluently.

In fact, the only classes he ever struggled in were the artistic classes. He recalled with a frown the one time in his sophomore year when he had taken creative writing. Now _that_ didn't make sense; there wasn't really any right or wrong, everything was so abstract. Not his forte.

Photography wasn't exactly hard, but it was one of those artistically-inclined classes, and though he thought it might be cool to know how to take and develop photographs, his work just wasn't as good as his classmates'.

Throughout the day, Castiel found himself drifting, his mind wandering without being tethered to what was in front of him. Always the first to finish his classwork, he let himself lose focus on whatever it was his chemistry teacher was going on about, and for not the first time that day, he wondered what Dean was doing.

Did he have his schedule yet? Castiel was a senior, and an Advanced Placement student at that, so he doubted he'd have any classes with him. Maybe when he switched out of photography, he could find out what electives Dean had signed up for, and take one of them. Because it would be convenient to have them meet up at least once during the day to talk about their after school plans if something came up- not because he wanted to see him more at school, or anything like that. Logically.

By the time lunch came around, he had a small list in his head off all the classes he'd be willing to switch to if Dean were in them. Honestly, Castiel already had enough credits to graduate as long as he passed this semester, so it didn't matter what Dean had chosen if he wanted to switch to it. Just as long as it wasn't photography, it would be fine.

Lunch was a simple affair; he was lucky enough to be in the second wave of students who went to lunch. The first wave was too early to eat, and the fourth made you feel like you were starving by the time it came around. Automatically, his brain pondered which lunch period his new roommate would be in.

Castiel's seat was at the end of a table with a few other students that he was friendly with, but mostly left him alone. Which was fine with him, he preferred a quiet lunch.

"Hey, Cas!"

Not that he was opposed to conversations, of course. Wait, when did he become 'Cas?'

The empty space in front of him was suddenly filled with a rather excited person as Dean took the vacant seat opposite his. Castiel looked down at his tray- just a pizza and a milk; he guessed the school had given him a free lunch.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel greeted him. "Did you get your schedule?"

"Yeah," Dean said around his mouthful of pizza, smiling at him and practically bouncing in his chair, looking rather animated for a high school student. He fished in his- Castiel's- jeans pocket and pulled out a small white card, handing it to Castiel. "So far I've had world history, work shop, and English. I really like them all, and my teachers are pretty cool. Work shop is my favorite though, I can already tell- there's just so much stuff you can _do_. And hey, we're in the same lunch period! Pretty cool, right?"

Dean was talking really fast, and Castiel couldn't help but find his enthusiasm contagious. He could not recall the last time he had found any part of school to be exciting.

"Looks like you've gotten over your nerves rather quickly," Castiel commented before turning to the white card in his hand- printed on it was Dean's full schedule. His initial assumption was correct, they did not have any core classes together. He scanned the chosen electives: Intro to Work Shop, Art 1, Spanish 1, and-

"You signed up for photography."

"Oh, yeah," Dean smiled. "I had one more spot to fill, then I remembered you said you were taking it. And it sounds pretty fun, so I thought 'why not?'"

As the lunch period drew on, Dean filled him in on all of the details of his day thus far; what he liked about each teacher he had had, what he expected from each class, how he had already started to make some friends- Castiel couldn't help but notice all of the waves Dean had gotten from other tables- he was popular already.

Not that it was hard to imagine why. Dean was an easy-going person, laid back, and easy to talk to. Even Castiel, who had been ready to shun him entirely, had found himself drawn to him. And it didn't hurt that he was also very attractive. He had a smooth, drawling voice that fell from full, pink lips that you wouldn't think would look right on a man, but fit his face perfectly. A smattering of freckles covered his face, standing out on his tan skin; his hair was short and dirty blond, and Castiel had never seen eyes so green.

He listened to Dean rant and rave about his classes fervently- classes he himself had taken in the past, and found dull and boring- and it gave him some thought. If Dean could find such excitement in such boring classes, maybe he was looking at them the wrong way.

Castiel looked back down at the small white card; last class of the day, Intro to Photography.

Maybe he could give it another try.


End file.
